I huddled
on the ground, shivering. The stone-cold chill seeped through my tattered
shift to my bones. It was uncomfortable, but I clung to it – any shred of
thought that could keep me from remembering the mockery of a trial. My trial.

Dark.Hard.Cold. Tears
streamed from my eyes, and I struggled to bite back my sobs of terror. I
didn’t want to die.

How long
had it been since they had locked me in, since my prison door gave its dull
thud of finality? It was the last time that I would hear that thud.
The next time the door was opened, I would not hear it close.

My hands
clenched into fists against the ground, against the cold. To die…. I was going to die.

I jumped,
stopping my scream with my fist. Footsteps in the
distance. Was it time already? The footsteps faded.

I balled up
into the corner of the room again.

Time
skittered and jolted its erratic race – lunging at points, ponderously slow at
others. Each time I heard a soft series of pounding, I would lurch up
from my position again, terror bursting out of me…only to stare wide-eyed into
the silent darkness, before huddling into a ball again.

I closed my
eyes, willing the darkness to disappear – my eyes clenched so tightly that for
a brief moment, the darkness gleamed red, and I glimpsed his face….

The sight
only served to bring a fresh wave of tears. Dear, sweet Will, whom I
would never see again….

Footsteps again. I tensed, but did not lurch up this time, bidding myself not to
move.

This time,
they did not fade. The footsteps grew louder, more purposeful. I
froze at the harsh chiming of keys, a jarring of metal against padlock.

First
padlock – a dissonant clatter…the second….

The door
was flung open. I blinked, wincing against the sudden burst of light.

“Up you
get.” The voice was rough, framed with a cacophony of raucous laughter in
the distance. I shrank away as the footsteps thundered close, the guard
leering over me.

“Come now,
pretty girl. It’s burning day.” Flecks of spit flew from his mouth
onto my face. I tried not to look at him – all to no avail – as his
hardened palm and thick, knobbly fingers grabbed me by the arm, yanking me to
my feet.

I stumbled
my way out of the room as he dragged me into the corridor, strangely numb to
the jeers that surrounded me, the jeers of his companions. It seemed as
if my mind had been stripped of all thought, just as the flames that would soon
engulf my body strip me of life.

The
corridors grew warmer with every turn, but I hardly noticed. My shivering
grew more pronounced. Finally, there was the crash of doors being
unbarred and screeched open. Sunlight cut through my closed eyes, and I
unwillingly opened my eyes to see the courtyard.

A small
throng stood there at the sides – all those who had presided over my trial and
sentence. And in the centre of the courtyard stood the scaffold; on top
of it a pile of brushwood, and the stake.

She stood
there, her face cold and emotionless as she watched me being dragged up the
wooden steps. There was no need for her to say anything. Gwen’s
eyes merely shifted toward the stake, the command in them enough for the guard
and his companion behind him to proceed. Each of them grabbed hold of one
of my arms, forcing them above my head as they shoved me roughly against the
wooden stake. I struggled – faintly, vainly – there was no way that I
could have fought them off, weakened from days without food and the fear that I
somehow, barely, forced myself to hide.

There was
the clanking of metal against metal, my arms nearly yanked out of their sockets
– a grunt and a heave – and I was bound, my wrists chained securely above my
head. I tried to tug at them feebly; the metal cut into my hands.
The guard backed away from me to stand at the corner as his companion knelt to
secure my ankles to the base of the stake. The chains were ice cold from
the morning chill, untouched by the sun. When it was done, the companion too stepped away, lumbering down the steps toward
someone in the throng, the one who held the torch….

“Gentlemen.”

I flinched
at the sound of Gwen’s voice. She did not raise it, yet everyone in the
courtyard heard every word she spoke. “Now here before you, is my friend,
whom I have told you of for so long. Here also is the girl, who stole my
former lover….”

Boos and
hisses were scattered across the crowd.

“…and
finally, she has given us the honour of her presence, that we may see exactly
what it was that drew William from our circle….”

William.
Will, I thought desperately, trying not to think of the way he had died trying
to protect me, trying to remember the features of his face, the feel of his
hand against mine….

The crowd was
angry now, the atmosphere rising to fever pitch. I looked away and toward
the ground, when I felt smooth, strong fingers grasp my chin, yanking my face
to the side. Gwen studied my face without passion, and her fingers
tightened as I tried to pull from her.

“Hayley,” she said, her voice soft,
like silk. I didn’t answer. She was playing with me – that much was
obvious. I would not give her the satisfaction she wanted. “How
happy I am to see you…”

Her eyes
flicked up to my wrists and down to my ankles. “…but then, you could be a
little more presentable, couldn’t you?”

Her fingers
trailed down my heaving throat to stop at the neckline of my shift.
Something flickered in her eyes, and with a sharp wrench, she tore my shift
away from me. The seam gave way with a whisper that scraped against my
ears.

I flinched,
clenching my eyes shut as the fabric slithered down my body to a puddle at my
feet, exposing me for all the world to see. The
morning cold slapped against my naked body, and I tried to keep myself from
writhing against it. From all around us came the sound of ragged
laughter.

I bit my
lip, and allowed my eyes to open – only a bit. Gwen was now smiling, the
triumph evident in her eyes. Her hand now rested on top of my heart, and
she slid it over to fondle my breast…pinching my nipple.

My hands
clenched into fists. The laughter only grew louder.

Pleased,
Gwen continued her exploration of my naked body, reaching for my other breast,
the taut muscles of my stomach…to the small of my back, then reaching behind to
trace my buttocks. She paused again at my waist, and her touch lightened,
trailing like a feather…before she took one small step forward, and plunged her
hand up between my legs.

I did not
scream – biting it back just in time – but I could not stop the gasp or the
tears that burst from my eyes, my face screwing up in agony as her hand dug
into me, the fingers probing, squeezing, pervading…. I couldn’t even see
the guard who stood paces from us, doubling over in his mirth. The
laughter was its most raucous yet, and finally, when I thought I would die of
humiliation right then and there, Gwen stepped back, lifting her hand to her
mouth to lick.

I slumped
against the stake, crying, trying to stifle my sobs, my breasts heaving of
their own volition. I did not see Gwen beckon with her other hand.
The guard stepped up to me again, reaching for the pile of brushwood. He
flung it unceremoniously at my feet, the myriad of branches cutting my
legs. When the pile came up to my knees, he paused, and then knelt to
lick the area between my legs. My hands seized, my body jerked, and the
tears came more forcefully.

Burn me! I
begged them in my mind. Please…let it end, let me die….

Finally,
the guard stepped away, and one of the men in the courtyard below strode
forward, still wheezing with laughter, lifting up the lit and burning
torch. Gwen took it from his hand, holding it high over the pile of
brushwood as she walked slowly toward me. Her eyes crinkled in welcome
anticipation.